


Unprofessional Services

by kassanovella



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Doki Doki Therapist Club, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, How do you even define slow burn?, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Therapist!Reader, memory fuckery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2018-10-19 05:43:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10633434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kassanovella/pseuds/kassanovella
Summary: Getting off of the Finalizer was the only thing you wanted. Until Kylo Ren got in the way. Now you're his therapist, tasked with a strange objective--but the last thing he wants to do is cooperate.





	1. I'm Not a Doctor

One more day.

That’s all you had to make it through. Just 24 more hours until you’d step off of the Finalizer, Fent’s hand in yours, the both of you destined for a planet with an actual sun--maybe even two. 24 more hours until you’d be able to breathe, free of anxiety and stress and the excessive demands of the medbay director. 24 more hours until you’d be able to make sure every single one of his needs was met--that he’d want for nothing, that there’d be no chance of failure or relapse. 24 hours until you’d be able to ensure his recovery. 

24 hours until your life could return to normal.

“Excuse me, doctor--”

“I’m _not_ a _doctor_ ,” you groaned, rubbing your temples--but when you peeled open your eyes, you cleared your throat, leaning back in your chair. “Oh, uh, sorry. Yes, um. Can I help you?”

The Stormtrooper at your office door appeared conflicted himself--on one hand, you weren’t a doctor, but on the other hand, what other prefix suited you? He straightened his shoulders. “General Hux requests you in his office immediately, ma’am.”

“Really?” You’d arranged for a clean departure a week earlier. There shouldn’t have been anything left of him to demand of you. Today, you were just closing up stragglers. Mostly the noncompliant ones. They’d have to just deal with it. “Can it wait?”

“I don’t think so,” the Stormtrooper replied. “I believe that’s why he included _immediately_.”

You sighed. The sass was unnecessary. “Fine.” Nothing saying you couldn’t stay and finish up your closures. Or tidy up your office. Or plan out Fent’s next meal. “I’ll be on my way.” Eventually.

“No.” The Stormtrooper shifted, uncomfortable with exercising his authority. “The General wanted me to escort you, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry?”

“He wanted me to escort you. Said that you’d avoid showing up if you could.”

“Dammit,” you muttered. He was good. “Fine.” Blowing air out through your nose, you stood, straightening out your skirt, and marched past the trooper. “Come on, then!” You heard the shuffle of his armor behind you.

At least you could take solace in the fact that this would be your last visit to the General’s office, your last-ever interruption at work, your last 20-minute traipse through the tiled halls of the Finalizer. The shine of the floors was more soulless than when you’d first been stationed. They were like mirrors, now, mirrors that could see beyond your flesh and muscle and bone, mirrors that reflected blackness into blackness, gleaming only when an infinity of emptiness swallowed the glass.

Or, you know, they were just some black pieces of fucking tile. Whatever.

It wouldn’t be right to say that the trooper had escorted you--no, really, it was you who had escorted the trooper, leading him straight through the doors on the bridge and right up to Hux’s office yourself. Clucking your tongue, you cast a look over your shoulder, watching as the soldier caught up. The bridge was busy, yet silent, the transparisteel panels clear of any absent-minded gazers. No sound but for the quiet adherence to the anal-retentive policies of the general. You’d only been standing there for a moment when the door opened, and before you could move, the Stormtrooper stumbled to try and jump in front of you, to--

“General, I’ve brought--”

“Let’s get this over with, General,” you said, crossing to behind one of the chairs. The trooper stood at the door, shoulders slumped. “What can I help you with?”

Hux scanned you, head to toe and back again. “An awfully bold entrance, today, doctor.”

You rolled your eyes. “All due respect, sir, but how many times do I have to tell you strategy nerds that I’m not a doctor, I’m a _therapist_.” You pointed to your lack of medbay insignia. “No medical training required.”

Lacing his fingers together, Hux glanced at the trooper, still stationed in his doorway. “Dismissed.” The Stormtrooper scampered off, and the blast door slid shut, leaving only you and the general. “Your impudence will not go unaddressed.”

“Okay.” You shrugged. “I’m out of here tomorrow, anyway.”

A tiny smirk crept onto his face. Oh, no. Not a smirk. Why a smirk? “And that’s exactly what I wanted to address with you.”

“Really.” The sudden urge to sit sank you into a chair. Your hands and feet felt heavy. “What, um, do you mean by that, sir?”

Hux’s eyes fell to his desk, and his lip twitched, as if he were remembering something unpleasant. “Do you know Commander Ren?”

You blinked. What kind of question was what? Did he think you were so rapt by your work you couldn’t be bothered to ever learn the basic chain of command at your station? “Um. I know _of_ him, but, no, I’ve never met him.”

“Right.” He frowned. “Then you’re familiar with his--what will I call them-- _abilities_?”

“I mean… he uses the Force, right? And has the laser sword?”

Another twitch. “Yes. Then you’re familiar.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “The Supreme Leader wishes for Ren to channel these abilities more effectively. To use them in a way that is more… _efficient_ than how Ren uses them now. Is what I’m to understand.”

“Okay…”

“The work done with Leader Snoke alone has not achieved a sufficient level of progress. Is what I’m also to understand.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “O- _kay_ …” The pounding of your heart was audible by now, you were certain, the dread inside of it hijacking your nerves. You were leaving. You were supposed to be leaving.

“You,” said Hux, “are the solution.”

If only you had water to choke on--you’d spray it all over his stupid ginger face. “I’m _sorry_?” You shook your head. “No, no, sir, I’m--”

“What the Supreme Leader has devised,” he continued, apparently unaware that you _already had plans_ , “is a plan for Ren to deliberately access these… abilities. With you as an assistant.” 

This was already completely stupid. “Sir, I absolutely respect the Supreme Leader’s will,” you said, “but uh, I mean, this just wouldn’t work. I’m a therapist, after all, the only thing I’d be able to do would be to, like, psychoanalyze him, or something.”

“And that’s precisely why someone in your occupation is fit for the position.” Hux cocked a disinterested brow. “Yet another point I am to communicate to you is that this will not be therapy. Rather--it will be an… anti-therapy, of sorts.”

You snorted. “Anti-therapy?”

His face was dull. “Yes. Rather than looking to solve Ren’s issues, Leader Snoke wishes for you to dig them up. Force Ren to use them.”

Laughter almost erupted from you. Almost. Pulling it back, you stood, waving off his suggestion like a gnat, something inconvenient and irritating, something that buzzed in your ear and tickled your nose and made the acid in your stomach bubble.

Well, maybe not that last one.

“Ha-ha, okay, General.” You held out your hand. “We’ve had a good laugh, but, really, my flight off of this ship leaves in less than twenty-four hours, and I really must get back to my quarters to prepare--”

“You are _not_ being discharged,” Hux spat. “All preparations for you and Mr. Hawkens’ departure have been cancelled. This is your assignment, now. So I suggest you sit and listen to the only time I’ll have the patience to explain it to you.”

Your jaw stiffened, your heart shattering in silence. Your departure. Your safety. His recovery. Your normality. All of it, gone--because of some ridiculous proposition that you conduct some sort of anti-therapy with the Commander of the First Order? No. This couldn’t be. Why did it have to fall on the day of your discharge? And why you?

Trembling, you collapsed into your seat, staring at Hux from across the mile-long berth of his pristine desk. It was made of the same material of which the Finalizer floor tiles were composed. It had to be. That was the only explanation as to why you couldn’t see yourself in the reflection of the glossy black surface. Why the only image, stretching out further and further, like a pale shadow, was the ghoulish imitation of Hux’s face, twisted in a sadistic smile. It could echo only a person’s truth, this substance. And that was why when you stared into it, a void stared back.

You swallowed--not just your bile, but everything else, too. “Yes, sir,” you replied. “I understand.” Was there no other way out? “I just--well--couldn’t there be someone better suited for the job? Other than me? Maybe we could reach a… compromise?”

Hux sighed. “When I asked the medbay director which one of his therapists had produced the most impressive results, he gave me your name.” His hands--thin, reedy fingers encased in leather--swiped away a screen. “When your coworkers were asked who they considered the most competent…” He met your eyes. “Their replies were, unanimously, you.”

“Maybe that _used_ to be true,” you said, “but the past few months, the mistakes I’ve made have been--”

“Yet your record is still more impressive than all others.”

Dammit. _Dammit_. You grit your teeth. “W-well,” you replied, “Fent Hawkens, sir, this means his medical discharge request is being denied, and--”

“Not denied,” he said. “Delayed.”

“Delayed?” You frowned. “How much longer can it be delayed? He is _very_ ill, sir, and--”

“And you are his caregiver, are you not?” Hux replied. “It seems that he is your responsibility--not ours.”

“Well, then.” There wasn’t arguing with that. The details had been decided before you’d even had a chance. “Of course.”

“At the request of the Supreme Leader, I’ve already arranged your first session for tomorrow morning upon Ren’s return. After which point, it will be your responsibility.” He turned. “Additional information will be sent to your datapad. Dismissed.”

Nodding, you said nothing else. You stood, pulled your skirt down, and you left.

The rest of your shift was spent in distraction, attempting to figure out how you’d explain to Fent why you wouldn’t be leaving, why his medical discharge request--despite Hux’s insistence--had been, essentially, denied. The mere thought of breaking the news made your fingers shake, made your palms sweat. You wondered if you’d be able to deliver it in holomessage. Or maybe bribe a Stormtrooper. Or maybe just mention it over dinner, a throwaway comment, totally meaningless apart from the entire meaning.

When you entered your shared quarters, Fent was curled on his side, blankets tugged over his head, the only sign of the life the quiet shifting of the mattress underneath his steady, unconscious breath. Chewing at your lip, you released a chestful of air, tiptoeing over to the side of your bed and nudging him. He didn’t stir, and you nudged him again.

“Fent,” you whispered. “Come on, sweetheart, it’s time to wake up.” _I’ve got some_ great _news for you_ , you didn’t add.

Like a beast rattled from its winter slumber, he groaned, tearing the covers from his head to reveal his face--handsome, still, even under the eleven-day shadow beard and four-day hair grease. You’d been trying to motivate him to basic hygiene tasks for days, now. He only seemed to respond to food. His sea-green eyes blinked at you through the veil of sleep as he sat up onto his palms, and you smiled.

“Hey.”

Fent blinked again, scanning your hands. “Hey,” he said. “Did you wake me up _without_ making me dinner?”

You looked at the floor. “Um. I’m sorry, sweetie,” you said, “but there’s something I really needed to tell you.”

He sighed, flopping back onto the bed and rolling away from you. “Okay. What is it.”

“Well…”

“Did you pack all of my things for tomorrow, yet?”

“That’s the thing, actually--”

“Don’t forget my holovid collection,” he said. “There’s some really important stuff on there. Stuff from my first missions.”

“Okay, well--”

“And don’t--”

“Fent!” You hadn’t yelled, but you hadn’t whispered, either. “We’re not going.” The anxiety tumbled off of you like a waterfall. This isn’t how you wanted this to go. “We’re not leaving, tomorrow. We’re staying.”

Fent’s body was a rubber band, stretched tight over your words, muscles poised to snap back and crack you across the mouth. But he hadn’t done that to you, before. Not yet. “Why are you yelling at me?”

“I’m not _yelling_ ,” you said, “I’m just... speaking forcefully. Because you weren’t listening.”

“Okay, sure, whatever. What is it?”

“I’m sorry,” you said, shrinking in on yourself. “Hux has given me a special assignment. I tried to argue my way out of it, but he wasn’t having it. I have to stay. _We_ have to stay. But he said that your discharge--”

“Are you serious?” His voice cut through yours like a forged sword. When you didn’t respond, he turned, meeting your eyes from the bed with a gaze that made your blood thin. “What happened?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Your fingers were knitting together like sweaty needles. “I’ve been given a new assignment. And--”

Fent frowned. “Did you fuck something up, or something?”

You shook your head, frowning. “I didn’t fuck up _anything_ , thanks. In fact,” you paused, using this burden as armor, “I was chosen _because_ of my hard work.”

“This is bullshit. I want to leave.” He stared into the wall. He looked broken. You wanted to pull him into your arms forever. Keep him safe. “I’m… I’m tired.”

“I know,” you said, “but Hux promised me that it was only a delay, that--”

Fent rolled his eyes and flipped over, motioning you away. “Okay, fine. Whatever. I’m done talking about this.” He sighed, his back swelling with a wave of repressed disappointment. You wanted to fall into the floor. “Do you think you could get dinner started, please?” He was almost whining, now. “I’m hungry.”

All of the resistance you’d built melted at your feet, the steam of your anger dissipating into the air. Mold spores of surrender were thick on the walls and in your throat. This wouldn’t be forever, you assured yourself. Tomorrow you’d meet with the Commander and turn him into the quickest case closure you’d ever had. Then Fent could be the center of your universe. And he’d get better, and everything would go back to like it had been when you’d first been stationed. It had to.

You patted his shoulder and trudged into the tiny kitchen. It wouldn’t be much, dinner--but it didn’t matter. You hadn’t planned on eating, anyway.

The meal passed in silence, with Fent falling back asleep soon after you’d cleaned. You had been hoping the medication would make a difference in his demeanor, but it’d been weeks, now, and there’d been no change. It was a few hours until the beginning of the sleep cycle, but you crawled into bed, anyway, sliding next to Fent’s near-comatose body and staring into the ceiling, your pupils still adjusting to the dark. 

In your dreams, you were running in space, stars passing you like windowed cities, above and below you like the sky and sea. And something was chasing you--something black, red, black, shooting like a spear for you, hunting you, its breath behind you, its body consuming you, devouring you in a mess of teeth and hair and hunger and _lust_ \--

You screamed, waking into a slime of sweat. Fent was still asleep. You were still on the Finalizer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is a series I've been working on for months, now--I'm just now posting it. I only have a few chapters written, but since I've been busy with life-stuff, I haven't had the time to write anything. I figured now that life-stuff is calming down (AND with the release of the new trailer!!!!!) now is a good time to post!
> 
> Let me know what you think! This is something else a bit darker, as well, but canon material is always good to slip back into! <3


	2. A Game I'll Win

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your first meeting with Commander Ren goes just as well as you would have expected. Okay, no, that's a lie. You expected it to go at least three times better than this.

You breathed in. 

Two minutes until the Commander was to arrive. Dammit--you hadn’t meant to check. Every glance at the chronometer sped the pace of your heart. There’d be no quick closure, as you’d hoped. Hux had made it clear in the message delivered to your datapad that neither you nor Fent would be eligible for departure until the progress of your newest and, now, only client, was determined satisfactory. It was, therefore, important that this first meeting go well.

The chronometer hit 10:00. You stiffened, eyes trained on the door. Any second now, and it would slide open, and you would stand and greet him, _hello, Commander_ , and you would begin your session. Intake questions first, of course--his personnel file was classified, and you’d have to create your own. What would he look like? You knew he had a mask. A lightsaber. A temper. Not much else.

Another minute passed, and then another. The tension in your body released, emptying into the room like heavy heat. Your fingers rapped over the cool, barren surface of your desk, counting the seconds with tiny thumps. The lateness was intentional, you were certain--a display of power, a demonstration of the malleable value of time. Already, you could sketch an image of this man in your mind: older, most likely, given his position and apparent gifts. And with the knowledge of his weapon, the already blatant abuse of his rank--perhaps compensating? 

For internal insecurities, of course. Not anything, well, lewd. 

Stars, you should have had some caf. He hadn’t even entered the room and you were already curious about his sex life. But then--who wouldn’t be? Being such a high-ranking officer bore mystery enough--it was human curiosity to ponder about the private lives of those in control. Hell, you’d even wondered if the snivelly ginger had ever managed to refrain from pissing off someone long enough to--

The blast door parted with a whirr, and you stymied the urge to scramble to your feet out of embarrassment. You _definitely_ hadn’t just been thinking about his dick. Clearing your throat, you stood--and words were robbed from your throat. 

Commander Kylo Ren was tall--frighteningly tall, even while you were standing--and cloaked entirely in black robes, like a hulking assassin. Even underneath the layers, though, you could see the swells of muscle, the broadness of his body, the power contained within his carefully concealed figure. It was alluring--fascinating. More fascinating still was the helmet, the mask of which you’d heard murmured mentions. The design was an imitation of a face, a brief allusion but not full acknowledgment of the living being underneath it. Instead, it was a collection of sharp lines and hard, shiny metal, the eye slot vacant and the mouth muzzled.

_There was someone here_ , the mask said. _But that someone is dead._

Blinking, you stretched out your hand, shaking off the impressive aura he’d just inspired in the air. You needed to solidify _your_ position, too. 

“Hello, Commander,” you said, just as you’d practiced--but he didn’t stop, not even to look at your hand. Instead, he took the seat across from you, in silence.

Body language was the primary indicator of a client’s mood, disposition, compliance. Crossed arms was a signal of defensiveness. A clenching fist indicated silent irritation. The position of the torso--leaned back in the chair, or bent forward--demonstrated, typically, the client’s willingness to participate. And of course, there was the face, something that you’d think most wouldn’t need assistance interpreting--and yet you’d met those who were oblivious to even a repetitive roll of eyes. Even still, the production of body language was universal. Intrinsic.

Commander Ren’s body language, for example, was very clear. Hunched back, wide feet, leather hands tight over one another, like clamshells. Even with his face obscured by his mask, it stated, with no uncertainty: _Get me the fuck out of this room._

Nodding, you sat again, introducing yourself with a smile. Always meet the client at their level. “Well, let’s get started, then.” You opened a new intake document on your datapad. “I do have to ask… are you going to insist on wearing the helmet?”

“Most likely.” The sound leaving the mask was dark and distorted, like the gnashing in the back of a person’s brain, the rumbling underneath their humanity. It made your stomach churn. Made your spine chill. And, oddly: it made your heart flip. “I see no circumstance that would require me to remove it.”

You shrugged. “There might not be. But therapy is a two-way street. It isn’t only _my_ job when we’re in this office.” Grinning, you leaned forward. “It’s as much your job to give as it is mine.”

In your head, this had been a good line. Well, it normally was, to be honest. Most clients relaxed when you stripped away the mystery of expertise. The introduction of collaboration was an important piece of your work--establishing you as equals on the journey to recovery. But this was not recovery. And Kylo Ren was not convinced. He tilted his head, the blank slate of his gaze regarding you with a piercing, unsettling impunity.

Forcing another smile, you glanced at your pad, putting on your warmest, most welcoming Therapist Voice. “I suppose I’ll briefly take care of these intake questions, since our work will be a bit different. I need a little demographic information, first. So…” You prepared for data-entry. “Your age, sir?”

“You’d prefer to waste time on questions rather than the work you’ve been assigned.”

You raised a brow and cracked a half-smile. “If you’d classify me trying to get to know more about you, the person I’ve been asked to work with, a waste, then, yes.” 

“I would.” He was statue-solid. “I’m interested only in following the request of the Supreme Leader.”

“That’s fine,” you said, “and I’d love to help you with that. But like I said earlier, this is going to be really difficult if we aren’t building a partnership.”

He huffed. It almost seemed like derision. “A partnership.”

“Well, yes,” you replied. Your palms were sweating. “I can’t begin to accomplish anything if we aren’t working _together_.”

Kylo Ren leaned back in his chair, hands still clasped. “I see nothing that you can offer me outside of the services Leader Snoke has prescribed.”

This resistance was typical, especially among higher ranking officers--your Commander was no exception. But there was something particularly irritating about the fact that you’d been denied your escape because of this jackass, and now he was acting like he didn’t even want to do the damn thing he was told to do. Yet he invited an important question. How the hell were you supposed to accomplish this, anyway? There weren’t any manuals or trainings or even guidelines on anything remotely resembling “anti-therapy.” Was Snoke expecting you to just… yell at him, or something? 

“Let me ask you this, Commander.” You lowered your datapad onto your desk. “What exactly do you want to get out of this?”

It was strange and awkward, staring across the room into a faceless being whose breathing seemed in rhythm with your own, like watching a hologram whose prompter had malfunctioned, or a droid that knew only to imitate what was directly in its line of sight. You hadn’t expected the question to silence him--if anything, you’d been expecting more sarcasm--but then a minute passed, and he still had said nothing.

“Have you thought of something?” Your question failed to prompt a response. But this too, was typical. “Ignoring me won’t get you any closer to your goal.”

“So you assume.” 

“Stop deflecting,” you said, sighing. “I can only handle so much deliberate avoidance in one day.”

Kylo Ren shifted--his slight movement thinning the air and tightening your chest. _The Force_ , you feared at first, until you realized you could breathe just fine and the issue was something intangible, hovering just out of your grasp, something you wanted to name but couldn’t even identify. You blinked, trying to will it away, wanting to stare at him with the clear, even eyes of a professional, but your body responded against your will. Through the black barrier of his mask, you felt his stare, focused now, like a beam, burning through walls you hadn’t even known were there, seeking you, finding you, singeing the stray threads that poked like errant hairs from your brain, setting them alight, fuses to the center of your vulnerability--

“Really.” His voice was gravel through gears. “Deliberate avoidance.”

You drew in a breath, long and secretly shaky, through your teeth. And you shrugged. “Oh, yes, Commander.” He could not scare you. He wouldn’t. Even if now, you somehow felt like his prey, you’d do everything you could to make him yours, instead. “You’ve done nothing but deflect and avoid since the moment you walked through this door, honestly.”

“Hm.” The mask, its human impression mocking you, tilted. “Do tell.”

“You want me to tell you?” you asked. You hadn’t expected that. But he asked for it. “Sure. First, you were late. That’s like, avoidance technique number one.” You held out your hand, counting his offenses on your fingers. “Second, your demeanor when you entered was--well, less than excited. Clear sign that you are trying to reject anything that might come from me, especially anything trying to pry into your personal business. Third, any questions I asked you were immediately ignored or responded to with impersonal sarcasm. Actually, maybe the sarcasm could be its own point.”

You were up to four, now, and slowly released your fifth finger, returning his laser-stare. Or, at least, that was your hope. “Last of all, we come to your helmet. I asked if you would insist on wearing it. You, out of fear for me seeing your face and, perhaps, your vulnerability, said yes.” Raising your eyebrows, you glanced between your hand and his mask. “All that in less than ten minutes.”

He shifted again, pausing. “You think yourself an expert.”

With a smile, you replied, “Yes, Commander. I most certainly do.” Leaning back in your chair, you folded your hands over your lap. “Now. How do you think this should work?”

“This.”

“Yes,” you said. “Our working together.”

You could almost taste the delight on his tongue as he spoke. “Why would you ask me? Aren’t you the expert?”

Had he been any other client, you might’ve laughed, given your canned response, _if I am, you’re still the expert on your own life_ , and rephrased the question. But your cheeks were hot. And you felt him staring again. Ridiculing you. Barring you from the only chance you’d have to get off of this stupid ship and maybe, finally do _something_ fucking right for fucking once in your fucking life--

“You know, I imagine there’s a reason you don’t want to talk.” The words were coming out before you could plug them. “A reason why you wear all those clothes and the helmet and everything. You probably have trouble opening up to others. Hell, you probably can’t! I wonder why, really. Is there something you’re afraid I’ll find, Commander? You don’t want to look weak?”

A pause. “You’re irritating.”

“And you have emotional regulation issues. Oh, and you use intimidation as replacement for inspiring true respect in others--”

“ _Enough_.” He stood, looming over your desk in a single stride. “Attempting to get inside of my head is the last thing you should be doing.” He pushed your datapad to the side and pounced, planting his palms on your desk, his mask inches from your face. “I assure you--it’s a game I’ll win.”

Was your chin trembling? You hoped it wasn’t trembling. “That’s too bad, Commander,” you replied, ignoring the quaver in your voice and the goosebumps on your neck. Your breath grew a cloudy film on his muzzle. “It’s what I do best.”

“Provide me with what I need, _officer_.” He pulled back. His fists were balled. “Because I can ensure that you never leave this ship.”

Before you could reply, he was gone, through your door a black wisp. When it shut behind him, you thought you might breathe, gather your things, and head back to your quarters to check on Fent. But your muscles were frozen, your eyes locked, staring into a nothingness that was swallowing the edges of your sight. He knew you wanted to leave. How did he know? Did it matter? Did he know about Fent, too? Would he hurt him?

That wasn’t how this was supposed to have gone. How would you get anything done with Kylo Ren acting like this was a service you could provide without his cooperation? You weren’t even sure what the hell you were supposed to be doing, anyway--it should’ve been figured out between the both of you. Instead, you’d fucked up again. _Again._

Tears stung your eyes, your mind racing with ribbons of thought-- _fuck-up you fucked up again you ruined it you’re stuck here Fent will never get better he’s sick because of you he fucking hates you why are you even here--_

Face cracking, you slammed your fist onto the unforgiving surface of your desk, and whimpered when the dull ripples of pain echoed up your wrist. Another slam, and the resonance sharpened, waves rattling the bones in your hand. Growling, you hit the desk a final time, tears slipping over your cheeks as you pinned your lips together, trapping the shuddering whine that fought its way through your throat.

No. You wouldn’t let this defeat you. You’d figure this out. Even if you had to stay up through the sleep cycle, work through meals. You were getting off of this ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! New chapter up! I want to see if I can do a thing where I publish chapters of my fics alternating weeks. One week, Little Bird, the next, Unprofessional Services. We'll see! I'm feeling a lot better, recently, but I am starting a second job, so... YEAH!
> 
> Anyway, that's my second chapter! Thanks so much for your feedback on the first one. It made me happy! <3 Love y'all.


	3. Desperate to Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't know what the hell Kylo Ren is talking about. So what if he can read your mind? He's full of shit.

“Anti-therapy?” Rue stabbed at her plate of Finalizer mess-hall slop. “Sounds like bullshit.”

You sighed, mimicking her movement. Your utensil was buried in the soft excuse for food. “I know, right?” Reluctantly, you stuffed a bite into your mouth. “Even worse, my client is… not cooperative.”

She huffed. “That’s not a surprise. He has to be some kind of special for Hux to make you do _anti-therapy_ on him.”

“Accurate assessment.” You hadn’t told Rue that your client was, in fact, Commander Ren. Not that she couldn’t know--she had access to all the same information that you did. It just wouldn’t have been appropriate to divulge in the middle of the busy cafeteria. Another sigh. “And now Fent’s all… frustrated and stuff. It’s annoying.”

“Isn’t that how he always is?” Rue grinned. Her cobalt eyes glimmered with mischief.

“Ha-ha,” you said. “Very funny. No. He’s… he’s getting a lot better, actually. We just need to get off the ship. Y’know.”

She nodded, stiffening. “Sure.” 

“Really, though.”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

The air was thick with words unsaid. You scrambled internally. Was she still mad at you for the last time? “Um. Anyway.” Shoving another mouthful of food past your lips, you shrugged. “It’s total bullshit, yeah.”

“Today’s your first session?” Rue took another bite herself.

You nodded with reluctance. As you stared at your food, it was looking less and less appetizing. There’d only been a few bites out of it, but the reality of facing the Commander again was making your stomach gargle your courage. “Heading there right after this. Woo-fucking-hoo.”

“Hey,” she said, and reached across the table. Her hand, soft and warm, enveloped yours. Blood rushed your face. Did this have to happen now? “You’ve got this.”

“Thanks.” Your chest tightened, and drew your hand back, tossing your utensil into the gloop. “I think I’m gonna go, actually.”

Rue frowned. “Are you sure?” she asked. “You haven’t finished your… uh, food. Yet.”

“Yeah,” you said, standing. “Talk to you--”

“Wait.” She paused, sighing. “I’m sorry. Seriously.”

Clicking your jaw, you looked to the side. “It’s fine, Rue.”

“No, no.” She threw up her hands. “It’s not. I shouldn’t have tried to push you like that--”

“Just. Drop it.” You huffed, rubbing your temple. “I know you hate Fent. I get it. Okay?”

Rue’s eyes widened. “C’mon. No. It’s not like that.”

“It kind of is, though.” Grimacing, you shrugged. “Look. I have to go. We’ll… we’ll talk later. Okay? Okay. Bye.”

You pushed forward, chin jutting out as you marched out of the cafeteria and through the halls of the Finalizer. Your cheeks were hot. It’s not that you were mad at Rue, perse. You just hated how every discussion that mentioned Fent had to become a snide way to insult him. Rue had never been through what Fent had been through--it was totally unfair for her to keep taking shots at him. It wasn’t as if you had a choice, anyway. He was your boyfriend. Your partner. You _had_ to support him.

Chest still tight, you arrived in your office, snatching your datapad and smashing your fingers onto the glass. Oh, you’d make this a productive meeting, you were certain. Ren would regret ever trying to mess with you. Now that he was your only client, you had no reservations about spending as much time as possible on his casefile. And you’d do this to ensure that Hux could never blame you for this assignment’s inevitable failure. You checked the chronometer. His appointment time--as delivered to you via Hux--wasn’t for another fifteen minutes. You could guess, then, that you had at least thirty.

Yet, as you started typing-- _Client is an adult male of questionable age and maturity_ …--your door swept open, the client in question stepping through and blocking the threshold as the hatch shut behind him. Glancing up from your datapad, you scanned his frame--bunched shoulders, tight fists--and set your pad on your desk.

“You’re early, Commander.”

“I wouldn’t want to _disrespect_ you, officer.”

So that’s what this was. “Oh, of course, Commander,” you said. “Nevermind that by ignoring the set time--regardless of your lateness or lackthereof--you’re still demonstrating your disregard for myself and for this process.”

He tilted his head. “I believe I’ll survive.” 

Ren strode into the room, glancing at the chair across from you, but then deciding to forgo sitting altogether. Instead, he crossed to the corner of the room, standing there and shifting on his feet, as if to indicate it was your turn to speak. You raised your eyebrows, cutting off a sigh in your throat and sitting forward.

“Would you like to get to work, then?” you asked. “I imagine you don’t have the patience for anything else.”

“You’d be right.” His voice was still unnerving to you, still evoked something inside of you that you weren’t able to identify. You wished it would go away. “I have little time.”

Biting back your sarcasm, you nodded. “Sure.” As if _you_ had time. All you wanted to do was to get back to your room and check on Fent. He was probably lonely. “The first thing I want to do is to have you pay attention to your thoughts. We have a thousand of them every minute, so a lot of the time, we don’t even know what’s going on in our head.” You paused, waiting for a response. He said nothing. “So, in order for us to know where to take this, we need to know where we’re starting.” When he still didn’t respond, you blinked, cocking your head. “Uh. Okay?”

Kylo Ren shifted, the wake of his disgust cast around the empty room. “This is all you have to offer?”

You blinked. What was that supposed to mean? Did he expect you to snap your fingers and _Force_ him to improve? What a shame he’d never hear that great joke. “Uh. Yes.”

Silence. He was thinking. “I’ll be meeting with the Supreme Leader, then. This is a greater waste of my time than I previously thought.”

Your stomach flipped. Your first instinct was to leap up and urge him to wait--you could do better, _really_. But this was quickly followed by the idea that if he cleared you of any responsibility, you and Fent could be off the damn Finalizer tomorrow. So, you threw your hands up, rolling your eyes. 

“Be my guest.” You gestured toward the door, and he started toward it. “I have no interest in wasting my time on _you_ , anyway.”

Kylo Ren stopped, his shoulders drawing back. Inside of your chest, your heart cowered, and you swallowed, crossing your arms. You weren’t going to take it back. If he didn’t want your expertise, then fine, you weren’t willing to give it to him, anyway. After all, you hoped he’d reject the idea of working with you so vehemently that you’d be granted freedom. But maybe you hadn’t needed to be that aggressive. He was still your Commander. Even if he was an asshole. Eh, oh well.

“Wasting your time on me?” That voice, like a deep-space tremor, quaked through the floor up your toes. “You believe your time is valuable enough to be wasted at all.”

Frowning, you replied, “Sure I do. I’m a professional. My time is worth just as much as yours is.”

He whirled, his cowl a tattered black wing spinning behind him. “A professional who’s offered me nothing in terms of professional services. The worth of your time is meaningless to me.” 

“I’ve offered you nothing because you’ll accept nothing.”

“Then what worthwhile work have you done, _officer_?”

He was trying to bait you. It was working. “You want me to get mad at you,” you said, “but I won’t. Your manipulation tactics are old and tired.” You grinned. “You can’t stand if something doesn’t go the way you want it.”

“I told you to stay out of my head.”

“You want something worthwhile, don’t you?” You tapped your chin, scanning his frame. Stars, he was big. Really big. Dammit. What were you thinking about, again? Oh, right. “You’re a control freak, Commander. Everything has to go the way that you expect it go--or you act out. See here, storming out of my office.”

“Enough.”

“Or insulting me when I tell you that you’re wasting _my_ time. The thought that someone in this situation other than you might have value would be a factor out of your control.”

“ _Enough_.”

“Even now, you can’t bear to just leave my office, because it would be akin to letting me win the argument.”

Kylo Ren stomped forward, his fists tight. “Shut your mouth before I shut it for you.”

“Escalation,” you sighed. “Classic tactic of--”

Ren threw out his hand, and the rest of your words choked in your throat. A foreign pressure stalled your breath, forcing blood into your cheeks and lips. You squeaked, a puff of air escaping into your office as the pounding of your pulse beat like a bass in your temple. With no other option, you grappled at your neck, glaring at Ren through the fuzzing perimeter of your vision. 

“Remember what I said.” The words were like a mechanical purr. You should have been terrified. You weren’t. “This isn’t a game you want to play with me.” He advanced, his voice somehow louder than the shrill ringing and throbbing in your head. Someone was taking an invisible machete to your skull. “You’ve been desperate to leave. To escape. You’re running… _alone_.”

Your face scrunched. He was in your head. What was he talking about? Alone? No, that wasn’t right. You were running with Fent. You were with Fent…

“Alone,” he repeated. “Free. You need relief. Release.” The pressure tightened. “And you want me to give it to you.”

Fear and excitement sunk into your skin, something buried in the deepest recesses of your brain sending an electric pulse through your thighs. Empty gasps leaked from your lungs, and you fumbled on your desk, looking for something to hurl in his direction. Your fingers closed around something hard, smooth--and as you gripped it, he released you, the air cracking, and you collapsed into a heaving heap.

You snapped up, still scrambling, drool spilling down your chin. “I don’t want _anything_ like that from you,” you spat. “That’s entirely unprofessional.”

“Hm.” It sounded more like a chuckle than a reply.

“What?” you groaned, wiping your face clean. “What is it?”

“That’s not what I was implying at all.” Without another word, he turned and disappeared through the door.

You spent the rest of the time you’d blocked off for your session recovering from whatever-that-had-been. Certainly, it wasn’t arousal that had awakened inside of you. Because you absolutely, positively had no intentions of breaking an ethical code with a client. Even if that client had spent his time breaking every known code of ethics with you. Well, then again, you couldn’t be sure of that. There was some possibility that a planet on the Outer Rim considered choking an acceptable activity during therapy. But then--did they even _have_ therapy?

“Ugh!” Who cared. You shut down your office and made your way back to your quarters. 

Fent would be sleeping by now, but he’d be hungry, soon. You hoped to prepare his food, feed him his meds, and wait to hear the inevitable news that you two were being discharged. Your hand hovered over the ghost of the Force-print. That’d been the one positive outcome of today. You’d been able to excuse yourself from this terrible mistake of an assignment. For once, your fuck-ups were creating consequences in your favor.

When you arrived at your quarters, to your surprise, Fent was awake, sitting up in bed, his vacant eyes trained on you. Your insides sunk into a puddle at your feet, and you stepped forward, cracking a smile. 

“Hey, sweetheart…” you said. “How are--”

“Why did someone come by looking for you?” His voice was hollower than his gaze.

You blinked. “Huh? Uh, I don’t know.” You wondered if it had to do with Kylo Ren. “What did he say?”

“Nothing,” he replied, and raised an eyebrow. “How did you know it was a man?”

“Oh.” Dammit. “I’m sorry. It was a thoughtless assumption.” Swallowing, you moved toward the kitchen. That stare clung to your back like slime. “What did you want to--”

“You’ve been acting really weird, lately,” he said. “Something’s going on.”

You stopped, observing your toes, wiggling them inside your shoes, and drew a slow, quiet breath into your nose. “Are we doing this again, Fent?”

“Doing what?”

“Accusing me of--”

“I’m not accusing you,” he said. “I haven’t said anything.”

Facing him, you sighed. “Come on. You know what you’re doing.”

“What are you talking about?” He was standing, now. “I just asked a question.”

“No, you didn’t,” you said. “You were insinuating--”

“It’s just really _weird_ that every time you’ve come back from work this past week, you seem all paranoid.” There was no flexibility in his tone. “Like you’re doing something wrong.”

Sighing again, you held up your palms. “I’m not doing _anything_.”

“I heard you moaning in your sleep,” he said. “You said a name. It wasn’t mine.”

Hot shame shot through your spine. You wanted to bury yourself in your own bones. Not only did you have no idea what he was talking about, you had no way to defend yourself. How were you supposed to know you were acting weird? And now there was _moaning_ happening? How did you even know he was telling the truth? All of your thoughts congealed into a massive wad of spit-anxiety. Spitxiety. You couldn’t swallow it. You’d just been stressed. Kylo Ren had barely left your mind. 

A live spark still bit at the back of your brain. Maybe that was the problem.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I can’t really defend my actions, because I haven’t known I’ve been doing them. But I’m sorry. It doesn’t mean _anything_. I’m doing everything I’m doing because I love you. Because I want us to get out of here.”

“Okay. Sure. Whatever.” He rolled his eyes.

Was he serious? “Don’t roll your eyes at me!”

“Who the fuck are you yelling at?” Fent puffed out his chest, his face twisted with rage. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”

You needed to bow out. This wasn’t worth it. “Sorry, Fent,” you replied. “You’re right. I didn’t mean to. I’m just really stressed. Sorry.”

Fent watched you, holding you hostage in his stare, and you waited--waited for his wrath to break, waited for him to return to the man you’d known. Then again, you weren’t sure how long you’d be needing to wait for the latter.

A buzz at your door, and you jumped. Fent narrowed his eyes, challenging you to answer. As if you’d expose yourself by doing so. Shrugging, you unlocked the hatch, and it slid open, revealing an officer. High-ranking. You hoped it was the same man from before--at least then, you’d be able to prove you hadn’t been doing anything wrong.

The officer glanced between you and Fent. “You must be the Commander’s doctor.”

You sighed. “I’m not a _doctor_ \--”

“The Supreme Leader wishes to meet with you tomorrow.” He might as well have been replaced with a droid--the delivery was incongruous with the meaning of his words. Meet with the Supreme Leader? Why? To say that you’d been released, perhaps--that you were free? “Location will be sent to your datapad.” And with that, he spun on his heel and was gone.

Blinking, you faced Fent, your face blank as the door slid shut behind you. He was silent--which, for some reason, pissed you off. You at least expected an apology.

“Well?” you said. “Does that answer your question?”

Fent’s eyes fell to the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m a piece of shit.”

Your heart seized. “No!” You rushed over to him, wrapping him up in your arms. “You’re not. You’re just not feeling good. I get that. I’m sorry.”

“We’ll do better,” he said. “Once we get off this ship.”

A soft breath escaped your nose. You nuzzled into his neck, closing your eyes. Behind your lids, the image of Kylo Ren flashed like an alarm. Your fingers curled into Fent’s shirt. “We will,” you whispered, hoping you’d believe it by tomorrow. “We will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eee! Hello! Thank you all so much for your feedback and support! This story is moving much slower, relationship wise, than my other fics, but I promise it'll pick up soon, for all those concerned, haha.
> 
> The next couple weeks may be kind of sparse, writing wise. I've fallen behind because of stress at home that hopefully will be taken care of shortly, and I'll be able to write properly, again. I hope this isn't too much trouble for y'all. :3
> 
> Thanks so much! I love you <3


	4. Sleep in Your Own Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You remember learning in the academy that working as a therapist required creativity. It seems as if anti-therapy requires the same.

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

Perhaps you could hypnotize yourself into sleeping. Or bore yourself. One of them would have to work eventually--wouldn’t they? You peeked over your shoulder. Fent was still conked out, his breath soft and deep. Not waking him was paramount. Freezing your lungs, you reached for your data pad, resting only inches from you. Your hand floated through the air, on a silent mission. Your nails grazed the edge and you pulled it toward you with your fingertips. So close. Almost there…

You slid it too fast, and it tumbled to the floor, a loud, glassy clatter cutting through the air. You winced.

Fent snorted, then shot up, shouting into the darkness as his head spun on a swivel. Cursing yourself, you eased him down, shushing him, caressing his back and murmuring in his ear. But it wasn't enough. His body shook, a choked whimper escaping him.

“I just want to sleep…” he sobbed. “Why can't I sleep?”

“Wish I could answer that for you, love.” If you ever found the answer, you hoped they'd solve the mystery for you, too.

“My life sucks,” he said. Your heart crumbled. You knew what he meant, but it didn't make it hurt any less when he said it. “I'm never getting better.”

“Shh,” you said. “Don't say that… We're getting off this ship soon. And when we do, everything will be different. I promise.”

Fent nodded, his body relaxing. Eventually, he fell asleep, but spent the rest of the night twisting, turning, pushing you to the edge. Between that and the sweltering heat of his body, you resigned yourself to a tiny corner of the mattress, staring into the empty ceiling, hoping the universe would mistake you for a corpse and claim you into temporary unconsciousness.

By the time to meet the Supreme Leader rolled around, you weren't entirely sure how much sleep you had gotten--only that your limbs moved like stones and your lids fluttered with the heavy weight of exhaustion. But it didn't matter. You had work to do. So, gathering what energy you had left, you slid out of bed and pulled on your uniform. 

As promised, the location of the meeting had been sent to your datapad, and you tucked it under your arm, just in case you got lost, unlikely as it was. Between dealing with your clients and dealing with Fent, you were fairly certain you had a blueprint burned into your brain. You bid farewell to him before you began your journey through the halls.

What could the Supreme Leader want with you? Of course, it must have been related to the incident with Kylo Ren the day before--but that wasn't your fault. It was his own damn choice to act like a child. A massive, terrifying child. With magic powers. That he used to strangle you. 

You snorted. You'd done nothing wrong. Why did you need to feel afraid? _Ren_ was the one who'd choked his therapist. 

According to the datapad, you'd arrived. The doors in front of you looked as plain as any blastdoor--a bit inconspicuous for concealing the Supreme Leader of the First Order. Didn't he deserve something gilded? And what were you supposed to do, now, anyway? There was no keypad next to the doors--no way of entry. Shrugging, you did the only thing you could think to do. You knocked.

The doors whirred open before you, taking your breath with them. Beyond them was a sanctuary--or, really, that was the only word you could think to define it. It was dark, without a single window or porthole, the floors flat and empty before a durasteel chair positioned at the head of the room. Where the Supreme Leader sat.

The problem was, the chair was empty. Your stomach sank. Perhaps he wasn't here. Perhaps this was a mistake. You stepped inside to double-check before escaping back to your quarters--but the doors shut behind you, plunging you into complete darkness.

“Dammit!” You scrambled and scraped at the door, raw shivers hitting your bones when your nails grazed the durasteel. It didn't budge. “Dammit!” Spinning around, you confronted the empty, black air. “Hello?” you shouted. “Someone!”

Blue, broken light cut through the void, a fuzzy hologram materializing at the head of the room. It blipped, stabilizing, and then solidified. You gulped.

The Supreme Leader might have been human, once--he had the framework--but what appeared in front of you was something strange, disfigured, its head like skin stretched over a craggy rock. Heavy robes consumed its thin body, seated in what you’d now probably refer to as a throne. How the hologram managed to do that, you didn’t know, but it seemed like a waste of a chair if no one was going to physically sit in it. Then it--he--spoke. 

“Do you know why you’re here?”

For a moment, you wanted to look around. You were the only one in the room--but he could’ve meant someone _besides_ you. Probably. It was difficult to produce any words when your throat was drier than salt. To be honest, you’d never put much thought into your function as part of the First Order, but now, faced with its Leader, you wondered about the motivations of someone who looked like the the casualty of a steel shredder. Okay, fine, that wasn’t nice.

“Um. Is it something to do with Kylo Ren?”

Snoke sat back in his chair. “Yes.” A pause. “He’s been assigned to you.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”

“Tell me what you did yesterday.”

You hesitated. Did he want the truth? Had Ren, like, tattled on you? Or said you were mean? Or, like, what? You drew in a breath. “Yesterday,” you said, “we began the process of identifying the automatic thoughts as a way of ultimately working toward naming his core beliefs.” It wasn’t a lie. You just didn’t want him to know Ren wasn’t cooperating.

“I see.” Snoke considered you, the silence stretching out between you. “Then you will do it again.”

“Oh, uh… I’m sorry, sir?”

“You produced promising results, yesterday,” he replied. “I want you to continue with whatever treatment you’ve identified.”

“Really?” you asked, and then cleared your throat, realizing you sounded far more incredulous than was appropriate. “I mean. Really. That’s very encouraging, sir.”

“The progress is already more than I had anticipated.” The hologram fizzed. “I look forward to seeing more.” Another pause. Sweat was tickling your nape. “Return to your assignment.”

You swallowed. “Yes, sir.” 

The hologram blinked and the door flew open--you spun, marching into the hall, jaw tight as you heard it then shut behind you. Back to your office it was.

_Promising results_? What in Maker’s name had you done to produce _promising results_? All you’d manage to do was get choked, and even then, it wasn’t like you and the Commander had great rapport. The therapist-client relationship was almost non-existent. Well, no, you couldn’t say that. It existed--in the same way that burning corpses existed after an explosion. 

When you arrived at your office, the reminder that you’d managed to sleep only a couple of hours pressed at your back. You lugged yourself into your chair, dropping your datapad onto your desk with a rattle. Sighing, you shoved your hands into your hair, gripping your scalp as your head spun. Stars, why wouldn’t they just let you go? You weren’t a good therapist, and you weren’t a good anti-therapist, either. All you’d been able to do was piss off Commander Ren--

You shot up. That was it. Piss him off. That’s what you needed to do. You grinned, sinking into your chair. Piss him off. It wasn’t that difficult. Of course, it might mean you’d get Force-strangled a few more times, but, sacrifices were necessary for progress. You could manage that. No--you could more than _manage_ it. You could _do_ it. And you would. He was due in your office any minute, now. Your face was hot with excitement.

You could do this.

Anxiety had slowed time. Five minutes past his appointment time seemed like an hour. And then ten minutes. And then fifteen. And by the time an entire hour had passed, your anticipation and pride had cooled completely, magma into rock. Despair settled into the cracks, flooding you, drowning you with every passing second. There would be no progress without a client. That’s what you’d forgotten. Kylo Ren wasn’t even interested in participating. The countdown to your release grew longer and longer, like a ball of yarn spinning out endlessly across the floor.

By the time you gave up, your head wobbled, as if it was filled with water, and your stomach twisted and growled. You hadn’t eaten since your meal with Rue the day before. It was probably important to take care of that. Admitting defeat, you gathered your datapad and trudged your way to the cafeteria. Though you couldn’t imagine what would be there that’d you’d want to eat. 

You weren’t sure what time it was. You hadn’t checked. All you knew was that there were people swarming the tables, and you and your pounding temples were having none of it. You took a seat in a secluded corner, driving the heels of your palms into your eyes until stars shimmered behind your lids. You needed to get up and eat. You _needed_ to. But the longer you sat there, the heavier your body became.

There was no way you’d be able to sleep in your bed, anyway. Not with Fent there. You supposed you could ask him to get up, try and get him motivated, but the thought of facing his misery changed your mind. You didn’t need to _sleep_ there. Just a nap. You dropped your arms on the table and buried your head into them. You remembered sucking a long, slow breath into your lungs--and you were asleep.

How long you slept, you weren’t sure. Long enough for the cafeteria to clear out, long enough for the owner of a crackling, modified voice to find you. Alone.

“Officer.”

Lightning sprung through your limbs, and you shrieked, head popping up to face the noise. When you were greeted with Kylo Ren, you gasped again, before collapsing into your seat and plopping your face in your hands. Shivers rippled through you.

“Hello, Commander,” you grumbled.

“Is it customary for you to sleep outside of your quarters?” You couldn’t tell how much of a snarky jerk he was trying to be. You assumed he was going for a medal.

Sighing, your hands fell to your sides, and you stared at him. Stars, he was huge. Your heart skipped. “No,” you replied. “Is it customary for you to miss your appointments?”

Static through the mask. “I’ve already informed the Supreme Leader I’m through wasting my time with you.”

“Really?” you asked, propping your chin on your hands. “When was that?” When he didn’t respond, you continued. “Because he just told me that whatever I did yesterday was _progress_.”

Kylo Ren was silent. His shoulders, broad, cloaked, rose and fell like a dying wave. His fists curled. Uncurled. Curled. “I’m not interested.”

You snorted. “Doesn’t matter. You _have_ to.” Crossing your arms, you grinned. “You’re stuck with me.” Stuck with you until the Supreme Leader thought you’d made enough _progress_ and saw fit to discharge Fent. And you.

“I won’t be attending future appointments,” he replied. “It’s in your best interest to find another way off this ship.” He almost seemed proud. “We’re done.” He started to turn.

Heat flashed through you. “Listen!” you growled. “We’re not done until _I_ say we’re done! If you think you’re stopping me from getting off this ship, then you are _wrong_!” Spit was soaring from your teeth. “If you’re going to do this, I’ll meet with you and the Supreme Leader _myself_ and _you_ can tell him why he’s not seeing the results that I was responsible for!”

When you finished, you realized your chin was quivering, your hands trembling. You weren’t sure if it was from hunger or from rage.

Ren, meanwhile, stood, as statuesque as ever. The only indication he was alive was that soft shift of his shoulders with his breath. The longer he stood there, the hotter the flame within you became. You wanted to turn him to ash with your eyes, wanted to dig your fingers into his arms and tear him apart. How would it feel, you wondered, to touch him--to slap him on whatever face he had under that stupid mask?

“Sleep in your own bed, officer.” He turned, his long legs carrying him toward the door.

“Wish I could,” you mumbled, and he stopped. So did your heart, for a moment. 

He sought you out. The point of his gaze was sharp, even through the black visor of his mask. “I still won’t attend appointments.” Then he stared, lingering on you for a long moment, before stalking through into the hall.

Your shoulders sagged, and you exhaled--you couldn’t remember the last time you’d done that. Tremors continued to rumble through you, but a tiny victory spun itself in your head. His last words were a tacit agreement that he was not, in fact, done. The lack of appointments was a part of that deal. You hummed, gazing at your datapad. Prodding at him in a single setting was unlikely to continue to produce the same sorts of results, anyway. You also needed to make sure he couldn’t just _leave_ \--

A tiny grin crept onto your face. He wouldn’t go to you. You’d go to him. Follow him. Be that voice to drive him to the edge, again and again. A laugh actually escaped you. Yes. You’d follow Kylo Ren. You would appease Leader Snoke. And you would get off this stupid, kriffing ship.

You stood, and your legs wobbled, your head whirling. “Whoa,” you said, catching yourself before you passed out. Another sigh. 

First, you’d eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've kind of had this chapter written for months and just never published it because I thought it was terrible! But then, today, I read it over and thought, huh, this actually isn't half-bad! So! Here ya go! 
> 
> Despite my inactivity, I am thinking about both of my current stories every day. Without getting into too much, my life has been kind of a mess since May, so, I'm trying my best to pull it back together. It seems as if it's beginning to settle, now. 
> 
> Thanks so much for your patience and support. I love reading the feedback for this story. It's close to my heart! <3 I love y'all so much!!


	5. Irritating and Unnecessary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has fuck-ups on their job, right?

If the stuffy atmosphere of the war room hadn’t been enough on its own to paralyze you, the swarm of eyes on you did the rest. Two rows of high-ranking officers swiveled in near-unison to greet you as the blast doors parted, all regarding you like an intruding insect. At the head of the table, General Hux raised a brow. You raised one back. He wasn’t going to intimidate you. Scanning the table, you found no evidence of your client. Kylo Ren hadn’t even arrived yet. But you shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Officers.” You straightened your shoulders, taking one of the open seats at the end of the table. Hux’s eyes hadn’t left you.

“Doctor,” he said. “I assume you have a reason for intruding.”

“I’m not a…” You bit your tongue. “I do. I’m here on the Supreme Leader’s orders, even.” Smiling, you shrugged. “I _assume_ that’s good enough for you.”

The officers turned their collective gaze to Hux. The steel of his stare hardened. He shifted in his seat as if to admonish you, and behind you, the doors parted again. His brow furrowed, and the other officers kept their eyes from lingering. You didn’t have to turn to know it was Kylo Ren. 

“Officer.” The sharp edge in Ren’s voice sent a shiver up your spine. “We had a discussion about this.”

You spun in your chair, meeting him with a wide smile. The oppression of his presence almost-- _almost_ cracked your facade. “With all due respect, Commander, your authority doesn’t discharge me.”

His head tilted. You wondered how frequently he’d been actually, legitimately challenged. The lightsaber on his hip made you think it wasn’t often.

“She’s right, Ren. Leader Snoke’s orders. You understand, I’m sure.” Hux’s voice was slick and sticky--his delight dripping from his teeth. Amazing how the shared desire to embarrass Kylo Ren could bring you together.

The weight of Ren’s gaze floated from you to the weaselly ginger across the room. His leather gloves squelched, and he brushed past you, taking a seat nearer to the General. You realized, then, with vindictive glee, you’d taken Ren’s spot. Your approach was already working. 

Of course, you’d be wrong to deny that the meeting wasn’t drier than the vacuum of space. There was little they said that you cared about or wanted to invest in--strategy this, resources that. What interested you was the way Ren and Hux sniped from only feet away--each of them crafting verbal barbs to spit into the eyes of the other. The inferior officers seemed accustomed to this. Not one of them acknowledged the intermittent spat happening in the room. But to you, it was new. And it was delicious. Folding your fingers together, you leaned forward. 

“It’d be just as effective to corner the fleet with a few dreadnaughts, General.”

“The idea that the Resistance would sit still during a full-on assault is ludicrous.”

“Apparently not more ludicrous than the idea of somehow siphoning half their support from the New Republic.”

“The Republic is _weak_! The First Order can offer--”

“Nothing that the current administration would accept based on loyalties alone.”

Hux reddened, teeth clenched. “Leia Organa’s influence dwindles by the day, _Ren_.” When the Commander failed to respond, Hux’s lips twisted into a grin. “Or didn’t you read that report?”

Your eyes widened. That was strange. You watched Kylo Ren’s body--he hadn’t moved, either out of restraint or something else. The officers at your side were silent--you weren’t even sure if they had taken a breath. The moment passed, and he cocked his head.

“I fail to see how that changes the impracticality of your suggestion.” He stood, and you blinked, prepared to scramble to your own feet. “Alert me when you identify a solution that doesn’t waste my time.”

With that, Ren marched across the room, and you leapt up, nodding at the officers behind you before you hopped through the door to match his pace. Thoughts raced--you were almost certain that Hux had inadvertently revealed a crack in Ren’s mental armor. Something about the exchanged bugged you--Kylo Ren’s pause, the smarmy little smirk on Hux’s dumb ginger face.Then the fact that he got up and left. That classic avoidance, again. You cleared your throat, but he spoke before you.

“Your presence is a mixture of both irritating and unnecessary.”

“Too bad for you, then.” Your physical endurance was waning next to Kylo Ren’s furious pace. “You’re stuck with whatever I determine is clinically appropriate.”

He didn’t turn, but you swore you heard the static of a scoff. “Clinically appropriate.” His fists were tight. “What clinical application involves you clinging to my every move?” 

Huffing, you shrugged. “Whichever one was determined to be most effective at pissing off Commanders of the First Order.”

Ren said nothing. Before you could try and poke at him, your name rang out behind you--a familiar voice. Rue’s. You hesitated, head whipping between your friend and your client. Without an explanation, you knew it looked strange. At the same time, having the conversation about your special assignment in the middle of the hall seemed less than ideal. Best to wrap it up quickly. You spun, waving.

“Hey,” you said, irritated at how out of breath you sounded. “What’s, uh, what’s up?”

Rue raised an eyebrow, looking behind you at the disappearing Commander. “What’s up with that?”

Your fingers twitched in anxiety, and you tossed a half-hearted look over your shoulder. “Huh? With what?”

She laughed, folding her arms. “I mean, what’s up with you running after Kylo Ren?”

“Run--running after Kylo Ren? Me?” You shook your head. “No, way, I wasn’t…” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m, uh, y’know. This is client-stuff.”

Her jaw dropped. “Client-stuff? As in, Kylo Ren being the client? As in, your anti-therapy project is the fucking _Commander_ \--”

“Shh!” You looked over your shoulder again and started pedaling back. “We’ll talk later, okay? Later!”

“Uh, _okay_!” Rue threw her hands up in the air, grinning. “Later!”

You tripped over yourself to catch up with Kylo Ren--he had gotten what seemed to be a mile ahead of you in mere seconds. Grumbling to yourself, you followed him through the halls of the Finalizer to an area you’d never been. You were greeted with entrances to four huge chambers, the hall dead-ending in a pile of decimated droid parts. The damage to the bodies was clean, like they’d been run through by a hot knife. Your eyes landed on Ren’s lightsaber. 

He passed his hand in the air and the blast door near the end of the hall opened. You kept to his heels to prevent him from shutting you out--and realized once you entered that this was a conditioning chamber. It was entirely empty. The walls and floors were all black, with not a single window to disrupt the slate appearance. At the ceiling, a massive white light illuminated the room, as if to imitate a sun. Poorly, at that.

“I suppose you expect me to be intimidated.” You crossed your arms.

“No.” Ren’s right hand went to his lightsaber, his left fiddling with the air. Seconds later, the walls opened, several hatches sliding to reveal droid dummies which thrust into the room on metal arms. They twisted and swiveled, their arms flailing, almost taunting. “I expect you to be as ineffective as you always are.”

A raging, terrible crack cut through the air when his lightsaber came to life, and he moved toward the droids, twirling the blade with an arcing, melodic hum.

You supposed you had expected him to be clumsy, somehow, maybe even bullish. But Kylo Ren’s brutal aggression was entrancing. He swung at the first droid, cutting through its body with a short, easy spin, sidestepping the second when it jerked into his path. Like his saber possessed a mind of its own, it whirled in a wide circle before Ren drove it through the droid’s chest. The other droids jostled in agitation, actively pursuing him, now--three, four, five, six, cornering him to the wall. He bent low, extending his arm before slashing through two in a single slice, the top halves of their torsos crashing to the floor. One long leg stepped toward the crowd, his wrist limbering as he clipped one, two, three droids in brilliant red trails of light.

The last one seemed to operate on panic programming, its metal guide flying it high into the air, out of the radius of Ren’s saber. He reached out with his free hand, and for a moment, it was still. Then you could see it: the droid shaking, trembling, as if it were trapped in a quake, its body growing one dent, two dents, three. Your arms fell to your sides, your lips parting--and then the droid imploded in a nova of white sparks. Forgetting your facade, you squealed, shielding your face with your arms and ducking. 

But you were only hit by silence.

A moment passed, and you lowered your arms, cheeks red. You’d let him get the better of you. But not for long. 

“Really?” you said. “You think that killing a few mindless droids is impressive?” You shrugged. “Starting to see why Hux doubts you so much.”

Ren stepped forward. Noticeably, he hadn’t killed his saber. He didn’t speak, but waved his hand in the air again. The metal arms retreated into the walls, replaced by steel, spherical orbs. You raised a brow. Ren’s fingers twitched, and three of the orbs spat out blue-tinted holograms. There appeared three identical figures, their arms covered in layers of armor, their lower bodies wrapped in flowing fabric. All three possessed a curved double-blade, and all three were faceless, their heads concealed by columnar, domed helmets. 

Their images flickered, and they readied their weapons--paused in defense, waiting for Ren’s move.

He spun on his heel, charging them, and they leapt away, noiselessly landing several feet from him. Kylo Ren whirled toward the one on the far left, momentum bringing his saber down with vicious speed, but the projection escaped him, spinning its double blade and slicing toward his head. Ren leaned, dodging the blow, and spun once more, tossing his lightsaber to his left hand and dragging it through the hologram’s waist while he landed on two feet. The projection blinked, then fizzled out.

You realized you’d been watching at this point, entirely hypnotized. It wasn’t just watching a fight--it was the way his body moved. It was mesmerizing. Kylo Ren commanded the room, his ruthlessness seemed choreographed. His breath came, deep and slow, between each effortless movement, vocalized static in the mask. It had never been more clear to you that he was not just an overhyped paperweight. He was, to the core of his being, a trained and precise _warrior_.

Shaking your head, you cleared your throat. You needed to be doing your job.

“So what happened in the war room?” You stepped back, leaning against the door. “Hux seemed to get under your skin there.”

Ren was silent, switching his saber back to his right hand, limbering his wrist again as he approached the second projection. The hologram jerked back, winding its blade above its head and thrusting at Ren. 

“Did something bother you about him insinuating you can’t read, or something?”

Feinting right, Ren stepped left, spinning while he whipped the blade toward the projection. It skated past by centimeters, and Ren twirled, raising the saber above his head and slashing down. Another miss.

“No,” you said. “That couldn’t be it. It was something else he said that bothered you.” Tapping your chin, you recounted Hux’s words. _Leia Organa’s influence dwindles by the day…_

Growling, Kylo Ren stomped forward, slashing again, and again--the third time, he caught the projection, cutting it straight through the shoulder. Like the one before it, it winked, hissed, and flashed into nothingness. 

You pursed your lips. “What about Leia Organa?” 

“Quiet.”

You smirked. 

The third projection spun its weapon between its hands before rushing Ren--he stepped, leaned, ducked to miss its swings, swiping at it as he did. It hopped on its toes, slicing for his head, the edges of its double blade whizzing by his neck. 

“So it _is_ something about Organa,” you said. “Kind of pathetic you can’t talk about it.”

“ _Quiet_ ,” he huffed, almost mis-stepping straight into the hologram’s blade.

You laughed. This was, for some reason, _fun_. “Did she hurt your little feelings, Ren?” you said. “Did she make you cry?”

At that, the laser of Ren’s gaze shot straight at you--but the seconds-long distraction was enough to let the hologram stab straight through his chest. He froze, an alarm screeching through the room, and the hologram disappeared.

The shrill whine lingered for several moments before winding down, and Ren remained, stationary. Statuesque. The excitement bubbling in your chest was almost too much to contain. You couldn’t just let him off _easy_.

“Wow,” you said. “You expect to serve Leader Snoke, but you can’t even take care of a few holograms. What does that--”

Ren rounded on you, his lightsaber still sizzling in the air. “I warned you not to play this game with me.”

You sneered. “I can do whatever I want, Commander.”

“Can you?”

Before you could respond, Kylo Ren released his saber, returning it to his hip, and started moving toward you. The instinct to bolt lit up your brain, but you remained still, thrusting out your chin and crossing your arms. He cleared the room in wide, strong steps, the weight of his stride resonating to the soles of your feet. You swallowed, paralyzed, as he reached up, pushed the locks on his helmet, and, after a quick second, tossed it to the side. Regret plummeted from your throat and through your stomach. Oh, _fuck_ \--

His face, much younger than you’d expected, was blessed with a high nose and high cheekbones carved out by what you could only assume would be the Maker (That’s if there was one--Ren was giving you faith). They contrasted with his full, pink lips and hazel eyes. Waves of his dark hair stuck to the sweat on his temples. All of this on top of his massive, powerful frame that threatened to pin you to a corner. 

The heat that raced through your blood was, to your horror, _refreshing_. Kylo Ren’s words echoed in your mind. _Release. You want me to give it to you._ You steeled your jaw to prevent it from trembling. His eyes were dark with fury. With more. Your hands were sweating. You balled them into fists.

“Still took your helmet off,” you breathed. “Looks like I’m winning.”

Those stupidly beautiful, plush lips curled into a smirk. Your eyes couldn’t leave his stare. He leaned forward, planting a hand next to your skull, the other tracing the line of your jaw, leather catching on the delicate skin. Ren was close. So close, you could count the beauty marks on his face. So close, his breath was warm when met your own. So close, if you shifted in just the right--wrong--way, your mouth would graze his. 

In the back of your head, you remembered Fent. In the back of your head, you wished you hadn’t.

“No,” he purred. “You aren’t.”

None of this do you remember: the pull on your skull, the starbright, searing pain ripping the seams from your mind, the lightning strike of emptiness, razed ground in its wake, the crumpling of your limbs, like paper, to the floor, or the time that forgot you, a wilted lump in space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I so appreciate all of the new comments and patience that y'all are giving me! I cranked this chapter out in a few days as I was working, so, be proud of me, please! I've been feeling more inspired since TLJ came out, and I have a new idea and direction for this story. I have no idea if I can pull it off because I'm still, somewhat, flying by the seat of my pants, but... hey! Wish me luck.
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed it! I love you so much!


	6. I Win

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something's wrong. Something is seriously fucking wrong.

“So! Where the _fuck_ were you?”

It took a moment for your vision to focus. Your eyes were miscalibrated, attempting to create a whole picture from the information in front of them, failing too many times before the muddied puddle settled into clarity. Shaking your head, you blinked away your confusion, furrowing your brow while your brain ran through what this voice had said, playing it over the shrill ring between your ears. Your gaze floated to your feet and back up again, putting a name to the person in front of you.

Fent.

Rubbing your temple, you blinked again, gritting your teeth when your head throbbed with pain. “Huh?” you asked. “What are you talking about?”

He crossed his arms. His face was flat. “You know exactly what the fuck I’m talking about.”

“Why are you cursing at me?” You went to step inside, but he blocked your way. You groaned. “Let me in, please.”

“No,” he said. “Not until you tell me where you were last night.”

You raised a brow, pausing. “What are you talking about?” you said. “I just went to work.” 

“Really?” he said. “I went by your office. Where were you?”

“Well, I was…” You paused again. “I…”

Fent rolled his eyes. “Uh huh. So I’ll ask you again. Where were you last night?”

Your brain was blank, as if you were pushing the pedal, the motor revving over and over as you turned the question over in your head. Last night, you’d been with Fent. You’d woken up, walked to meet Kylo Ren, and... Nothing. You asked yourself again. You’d woken up, walked to meet Kylo Ren, _and_ …

The engine stalled. No matter how many times you reviewed the memory, you couldn’t recall it. You couldn’t even recall how you got to the door of your quarters. You looked down at your fingers, counting them. There were ten. This was real. Air caught in your throat, and you stepped back, dizzy. The room pulsed in front of you, like water rippling in a pond. 

“I can’t remember.” You shook your head. “I... can’t remember.” 

“Bullshit,” Fent said. “Who were you with?”

You frowned, seething as another wave of pain rocked your skull. “No one! I can’t remember, Fent!” You tried to push past him, again, but he stood rock-still. “Let me in!”

“No!” he said. “Why the fuck are you yelling at me?”

“Why are _you_ treating me like I did something wrong?” Your chin trembled. “I’m telling you all that I know.”

“You tell me you were with ‘no one,’ but then you say you can’t remember.” He narrowed his eyes, hissing between clenched teeth, “I just want to know if you fucked him.”

You were wooden, staring at him with a look of crumbling confusion. “If I… if I--who? Fucked who?”

“Whoever you were with.” He rolled his eyes, shoving himself through the door and past you. “Whatever. Fuck off somewhere. Don’t talk to me. Don’t come back here.”

Rounding on him, your voice faltered, fear swallowing your anger. “Fent, please, wait!” You moved to chase after him, cursing your shorter legs.

“Fuck you, asshole.” He whipped around to leer at you. “Don’t fucking follow me.”

“No, I...” Despite your words, your stride slowed. “Help me with this! We can figure it out together!”

He said nothing as he stomped down the halls of the Finalizer and turned a corner. 

Chasing after him wasn’t a real option. When Fent did this, pursuing him would only make him escalate. You didn’t feel like having a screaming match for the rest of the crew to see. Instead, you sighed, trudging back into your quarters. The ache in your head sharpened, anguish leaking into your bones like poison. You wracked your brain, trying to shake loose whatever gap was clouding your memory, but the blankness remained. The tremble in your chin quaked into your limbs, your hands grasping at the air, wanting it to steady you. 

How _dare_ he talk to you that way--assume you’d ever do something to betray him? After everything you’d done for him, all that you’d sacrificed. If it hadn’t been for him, you might be doing something with your career. If it hadn’t been for him, you could be off the damn Finalizer. If it hadn’t been for him, you wouldn’t be so fucking _stuck and fucking miserable and what the fuck is that noise who the fuck is screaming_ \--

“Fuck you, you fucking asshole! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!”

You hadn’t realized the voice belonged to you until your datapad clattered to the floor. Trembling turned to shuddering, and when you inhaled, pain--real, pulsing pain--resonated from your wrists to your shoulders. Teeth chattering, you glanced at yourself. You’d been slamming your forearms against the edge of your desk. The force had thrown off your pad. You exhaled, blinking and stepping back. Dammit. Now your arms would be covered in bruises again. You examined them--already, big red welts were blooming on your skin. Sighing, you pushed your fingers through your hair. Better bruises than the scars.

Chewing at your lip, you released another sigh. You needed to find Fent--the buried fear that he might do something drastic was crawling out of its hole. The missing time would have to wait. You gathered a deep breath and marched into the halls, following the path he had taken. First, you’d stop by your office and _prove_ you’d been at work. Once you found him, then you could apologize, you could explain what had happened, you could make him walk with you to the doctor, you could _prove_ you hadn’t done anything wrong. All you needed was to know what was happening first.

Your office was one of several in the mental health wing--in the front, a line of droids prescribing designated treatments for Stormtroopers and higher officers alike. You noticed a few troopers shaking, either with gratitude or space madness, as a droid pointed them toward a reintroduction chamber. Space madness was common. Those in extended combat missions or scouting developing it most frequently, and the therapies on board the Finalizer were evidenced-based best practices: group and rhythm therapy combined with recreational leave. Down the hall, a coworker was running one such group now, several feet from your office. The droids were also the primary caretakers for those with deepsickness--most who developed it weren’t capable of engaging in even the most basic of reality-testing or cognitive adjustments until after a long period of round-the-clock stabilization. 

You were often given these patients after their intensive care period had ended, but you also treated those with hyper-rapture, claustrophobia, and the more typical behavioral health issues that addled humans. Apparently, your fellow officers felt you were competent--but as your forearms swelled, you questioned their judgement. Perhaps they just didn’t want to be targeted. 

You passed Rue’s office when you pushed into your own. She must have heard the blast door open, because popped out of her room to investigate.

“Hey!” she said. “What are you doing here?”

Sighing, you waved her into your office. “Just looking for evidence I was here yesterday.”

Rue frowned. “What? Why?”

“Because,” you said, “Fent is convinced that I was with someone else last night.”

“Are you serious?” she asked. “Again?”

You pursed your lips, plopped into your chair and turned on the holoscreen that stored your records, debating if you wanted to tell Rue about your little memory problem while in the mental health wing. There was no need to risk what little of your position you had. Something would jog your memory, surely. Rue stood across from your desk, brow drawn in concern. You avoided her gaze as you scrolled through the timestamps, ignoring the ache in your arms. 

“He doesn’t--”

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” you said. “I know.” Nothing illuminating in the records. You flicked on the caseload screen, though you were certain you’d discharged all of them weeks ago. “It’s not really a big deal. I just have to show him what I was doing.”

She sat in the chair across from your desk, her mouth curved in a half-smile. “You don’t have to do that.” A pause hung between you--and she frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Um, yeah.” The caseload was empty, too. Didn’t seem as if you’d been here yesterday at all. “Why?”

“You seem stressed,” she said. “Do you want to go to lunch together? Take a break from this. We can talk about yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” The dagger in your head grew larger, and you grimaced. “What do you mean?”

Rue raised a brow, scooting forward in the chair. “You know, yesterday.You told me we’d talk later.”

Your fingers stopped moving. Blankness again. “I don’t…” You swallowed, keeping your eyes on the holoscreen. “Talk about what?”

“Uh, you were with _Kylo Ren_. Remember?”

Like she had struck a gong, your ears rang--a deep, smothering hum, creeping into the edges of your vision, and it swelled, drowning all noise in a piercing whine. Your chin quivered again, your fingers following, and your eyes lost focus--or at least, you thought they did, because all you could see was the corner of your office, shrinking before you, like a captured landscape minimized by distance. The sound of your breath was rushing wind. 

“I… can’t,” you said. Your mouth was dry. “I… I can’t remember.” You looked at Rue, meeting her blue eyes through the collapsing window of your brain. “I can’t remember, Rue.”

Rue stood up, speaking your name like a command. “What do you mean?” she asked. “What do you mean you _can’t remember_?”

You breathed again, shaky and slow, and again, faster this time, and your head was pounding, like a stampede was trampling your skull, and the ringing was loud, so loud _louder_ , and then someone was laughing, someone distant, and then not so distant, then in your ears, horrible, _screeching_ laughter, heaving and sobbing and louder now than the ringing, and some place in your body there was pain, dull and bloated, like a knocking, a beating of bruised skin.

And then you realized it was _you_ , your laughter, pouring out of you in a demented crescendo, your wrists smacking the desk, over and over and over, demanding an answer, demanding to _know_ , and no matter how many times you replayed the day in your head, you couldn’t remember, you couldn’t _fucking_ remember.

You’d woken up, walked to meet Kylo Ren, and… you’d woken up, walked to meet Kylo Ren, and… you’d woken up, walked to meet Kylo Ren, you’d woken up, walked to meet Kylo Ren, andyou’dwokenupwalkedtomeetKyloRenandyou’dwokenupwalkedtomeetKyloRenandandyou’dwokenupwalkedtomeetKyloRenandyou’dwokenupwalkedtomeetKyloRenandyou’dwokenupwalkedtomeetKyloRenand--

Furious thoughts, a flurry of empty words, submerging you in darkness, alone, desperate, surrounded by the nothingness of your memory, until the glass cracked, shards splintering to a flickering image, a moment missed by obliteration--blackness, echoes of red fire arcs, and then a face, but inhuman, and a voice, but inorganic, as if the recollection had been supplanted by something else, but the image still so clear...

Kylo Ren. _His_ mask. _His_ voice. The words rumbled through you, shattered your shell.

“ _I win_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Look at me! Throwing another update at you! The next one might be a bit, as I want to try and do a chapter of Little Bird, next, but maybe we'll get three whole chappies of this one in a short time, eh? Sorry it's a little short, but I want to keep the tension.
> 
> I know it's getting weird. That's where this fic is going. I want it to get weirder and more fucked up. Thanks very much to Aletheia (a gorgeous Kylux fic) for the bit of inspiration.
> 
> Let me know what you think!! This is an exercise for me and I'm enjoying it!! Thanks so much for reading! <3 <3 <3 I love y'all.


	7. So Professional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something weird is going on. You're not going to let this go.

Something was pounding at the inside of your skull. It took a moment for you to realize it was your brain. It took another moment for your body to catch up, lagging in the wake of your confusion, settling into what your limbs recognized as a bed. A thought shot through your mind--the first one, formed from a pile of memory shards.

_Kylo Ren._

Shouting, you awoke into bright light, white sheets, and empty walls. The med bay. You scanned your arms through half-lidded eyes, prying them from the mattress--they were swollen. Red. But you hadn’t been given a monitor. You were there for observation, then.

“She’s awake. Rue, she’s awake--”

“Yeah, I see that.”

You groaned, trying to shake away the persistent ache in your head as you eased yourself up to meet the faces of Fent and Rue, both perched by your bedside. Squinting, you glanced between them. 

“What… uh, what _happened_?” 

There was a pause. Rue leaned forward, searching for the words. “You were--”

“You had a breakdown,” Fent said. He reached toward you, grabbing your hand. Warmth eked up your arm. “They had to…” Grimacing, he looked to Rue, and then back to you. “You were brought to the medbay and stabilized after some scans.”

You raised a brow. “A breakdown?” 

Something about that sounded familiar. Something about it made your arms throb. You examined them, noting the dozens of fat, red welts blooming along the line of your forearm. Then, a violent flash of memory: laughter, pain, the knocking, your head splitting open, and then someone calling, _help_ , and then--and then--nothing. You frowned. The fragments were returning, a puzzle with shrinking gaps. 

“You passed out,” Rue said. “When the droids ruled out any sort of mental complication, they brought you down here.”

“Oh.” You nodded. The reason you’d had this _breakdown_ , though--it was still empty. Still like a thousand needles when you thought too hard about it. Wincing, you gripped your skull. “Something happened…”

“Uh, I know.” She smirked. “I was there.”

You shook your head. “No, not that… Something, like… Something happened to my _memory_.”

Rue narrowed her eyes at Fent. “See? I _told_ you.”

“What?” You looked between them. “Told him what?”

Fent sighed, his gaze wandering to yours. He murmured your name. “If there’s anything you need to… Well, you know. If there’s anything you want to let me know…”

“ _Fent_ …”

Blinking, you retracted your hand. “Anything I want to _let you know_?”

He furrowed his brow. “Well…”

“Drop it, Fent.” Rue’s teeth were nearly bared.

If she was scaring him, he didn’t show it. He glanced at her, once, and then turned to you. “If there’s anything I need to know about the night you were gone, you can tell me now. It’ll be like it never happened. I won’t hold it against you. I swear. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Oh… Um. Wow.” You paused. “I don’t know what to say.”

Rue crossed her arms, silent.

“You don’t have to say anything, right now,” Fent said. “Whenever you’re ready--”

“No,” you said. “Not that. I don’t know what to say because _I seriously don’t remember_.”

He appeared confused--like he couldn’t comprehend the idea. “I just--”

“That’s enough,” Rue said. “I’ve told you like ten times already to drop it. Her trying to remember yesterday is the reason why she’s in here in the first place.” She looked at you. “I don’t want to see you like that again.”

“And you think I _do_?” he said. “Fuck off, Rue.”

“Fent--”

“Don’t you _dare_ talk to me like that, Hawkens,” she said, standing. “Maybe you think it’s okay to talk to your girlfriend--”

Now Fent stood, too. “Who the _fuck_ are you trying to puff up at, Sokoski? None of that shit is any of your business, anyway!”

“ _Fent_ \--”

“Well, it _becomes_ my business when I have to deal with the fallout everytime you upset her!”

“Rue--”

“Oh, fuck off, Sokoski, no one _fucking_ asked you to do--”

“It’s called being a friend, but maybe--”

Your dragged your hands over your face. “ _Guys_!”

Rue and Fent froze, somehow inches from each other, now, both of their faces etched with red rage. Their breaths were heavy, and Rue’s fists were tight, her knuckles pale. Fent’s eyes were blown wide, fixed on Rue with blinding fury--you’d seen that anger before, and somehow, it was even scarier when it wasn’t directed at you. Rue swallowed, looking over at you.

“Are you actually going to let him interrogate you like--”

“Rue,” you said. “Please, I--”

She shook her head. “No!” she replied. “No, I’m not going to let him do this to you. You need _rest_ \--”

“I know.” You took a deep breath. “Just… can we talk about this later, please?”

Blinking, her face fell. “You… You’re not… Are you kicking me out?”

“No…” You pursed your lips and stared at your hands. “No, that’s not it. I just--”

Rue laughed--short and sad. “You are. Huh. Well, okay. All right. We’ll talk later, then.” She squeezed your hand, leering at Fent before she stalked out, the door whizzing shut behind her.

Fent remained standing, wrath still heavy on his shoulders, gathering a long, slow breath through his nose before releasing it in a sigh. He shook out his wrists and sat, surrounding one of your hands in both of his, his head falling into them. Silent, he kissed your knuckles, and your chest ached--you slid fingers through his hair to soothe him, scratching his scalp, letting go your own hidden sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “She’s right.” He kissed your hand again. “I believe you, okay?” He paused. “I believe you.”

A small laugh escaped you. “Maybe you should’ve just said that.”

He shrugged in agreement. “I know. I just…” He gazed up at you, his eyes gentle and tender and apologetic. “I love you, so much.”

“I know you do.” A smile crept onto your face. “I love you so much, too.”

“I’m sorry that I get so mad sometimes, that I act like a stupid asshole.” His lips trembled. “I was so scared that something had happened to you. I was scared you were going to leave me.”

You gasped. “What? No!” You cupped his face, the rough brush of his stubble making you shiver. “No, no, no. No, Fent. I understand, okay? I just… I want you to be better. That’s all.” Pushing his hair back, you grinned wider. “I love you. Okay?”

For a moment, he was quiet again, and then he nodded, forehead brushing your knuckles. Your breath was slow, synced with the soft strokes of his thumbs over your fingers. Rue hadn’t been wrong to defend you, really--nor had she been wrong to get pissed at Fent for being such an ass. In fact, _you’d_ been wrong. You watched Fent treat Rue like trash, and you’d done… nothing. A knot of guilt coiled in your belly, your face flashing hot. At some point, you’d need to apologize to her. Or do something to make it up to her. You couldn’t think about that right now, though. The final pieces were returning. 

_Kylo Ren._

Just the thought of his name crushed your gut. You didn’t know why, and didn’t know how, but you knew this much: this was his fault. You remembered getting up, his name in your brain, you remembered walking to meet him. According to Rue, you’d been with him, yesterday. 

And now, you couldn’t remember any of it. At all.

You pushed yourself up in the bed. “I need to go, Fent.”

He balked, easing you back with a hand on your shoulder. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “No, sweetheart. You need to rest. They’re still observing you.”

“Oh, who cares?” You shoved him off, moving to climb out, but he caught your forearm--you winced, jerking away. “ _Fent_...”

“Shit! Shit, I’m sorry.” Fent’s face crumpled, his palms open and up. “I forgot that hurt. I’m sorry.” As you swung your leg over the side of the bed, he groaned. “Seriously, come on. Don’t leave.”

You shrugged, rubbing away the tender spot on your arm. “I have to,” you said. “I gotta get back to work.”

Fent crossed to the other side of the bed, blocking you in, his expression pleading. “Please. Don’t leave. Just…” He looked to your arms, then back to you. “You’ve been working so hard. Because of me. But you can take a break. Even a small one. Please. Just. For five minutes, relax.”

For a long moment, you sat there, considering him. He was right that everything you’d done had been for him. To hear him give you permission to rest released tension in your shoulders. But some still remained. The real issue, now, was one Fent couldn’t fix. You needed to find Kylo Ren. What you’d do after that, you didn’t know. But if would take a five-minute nap to give you to the time to do that--then perhaps it was a win-win.

“Fine, fine…” Supplying Fent with a reluctant grin, you slid back onto the bed, pulling the sheet over yourself and plopping your head on the pillow. “Happy?”

He smiled--a real, blinding smile--and sat next to you again. “Yes. Now _rest_. Okay?”

You rolled your eyes teasingly before you closed them. Your cheeks were warm. “Okay.”

It seemed as if only five minutes had passed with your eyes closed before you felt Fent get up, kiss your forehead, and leave. You remained there, still, breath quiet, for a moment longer before you peeked through your lashes, eye poking around the room for any hint of life. It was empty. And dark. He must have shut off the lights. Opening your lids, you curled up to sitting and tossed the sheet to the side. You were going to get answers, dammit.

When you stood, your legs wobbled, and you grabbed the bed, wondering how you’d become so disoriented in a manner of hours. Probably the headache, still a faint pulse in the back of your skull. Grunting, you steadied yourself, glancing at the loose-fitting clothing the medbay had given you. You sighed. It’d probably been necessary to get you out of your uniform to run tests, but _still_. After surveying the room, you found where they’d stored your clothes and changed into them. Now that you were professional, you were able to cross to the door to leave. But it remained closed.

Frowning, you pushed the button next to the door--sometimes necessary for a manual open--but it refused to budge. You raised a brow, pressing it again. And again. And again and again, and then you smashed it with your fist, but _still_ it would not open. 

“What the hell?” You pounded the door, reverberation ringing up your bones. “Hey! Hello? I’m ready to go!” Standing on your toes, you peered through the glass, trying to glimpse any hint of movement. The hall, too, was dim. Your heart dropped like a stone. “Um… hello?”

“Something wrong?”

The voice was dark, mechanical, ricocheting off the walls of your mind, its echo throbbing in your flesh. It awoke a primal shiver that crawled up the notches of your spine and through the ends of your nerves, a feeling so foreign that it ate the breath in your chest. You gasped, spinning to face him--the only one to whom this voice could belong. 

“What’s going on, Ren?” You stepped toward him, and the room rippled like water. It stopped you from moving any further. “What did you do to me?”

Kylo Ren said nothing, only stood there, his body leaking shadow into the corners of the room, wisps of smoke without flame. You squinted, and the room fizzled with a static blink, and Ren was feet from you, now, like he’d jumped through time. Your pulse quickened. Shaking your head, you looked at your hands. Ten. This had to be happening. It had to.

“Tell me what you did to me.”

The room blinked again--for a moment, you were standing in the training room--and then back to the medbay, Ren still towering over you. He snickered, a thunderous, resonant noise, surrounding you, stiffening the hair on your arms. Twin desires coursed through you: one of them to wrap your hands around his neck and make him beg for his life, the other to wrap your hands around his dick and make him beg for your cunt. Wait.

 _What_?

As you thought it, Ren chuckled again, the air drowning in the echoes of his voice. Your head felt like a balloon, like if you moved too quickly, it would pop. You groaned, rubbing your temples and glaring at him.

“This is a game to you, then,” you said. “And you think you’ve won.”

“No, officer,” Ren said. “I _have_ won.”

You shook your head. “No, you haven’t.” You stepped forward, and the floor crumbled in front of you, chunks falling into a starry abyss. “I will find you, Ren.” Another step, and you crossed the void, as if the ground were made of glass. “And I will _own_ you.”

Ren fizzled, and you felt the weight of his presence behind you, a boulder at your back, and then his voice, clear and quiet in your ear. “So _professional_.”

Snarling, you pivoted, fingers digging into metal, snatching the sides of his mask and tearing it free in one swift, furious movement, tossing it to the side, revealing--

You screamed, flinging forward in your bed, your body soaked in sweat, clothes clinging to your skin. Wheezing, you scanned the room, eyes darting from corner to floor to corner. The lights were on. You were still in the medbay. You pressed your palms against your cheeks, feeling the heat radiating from them. A shaky breath left you, and you buried your face in your hands. You were alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY! Look at me, posting chapters with some sort of regularity! No idea what fic I'll be updating next, but definitely keep an eye out for it over the next couple of weeks!
> 
> I know some of you are probably sitting there like, "Jesus fucking Christ, this is slow, can we get to the part where Reader and Kylo have some fucking TIME together, like, QUALITY time?" The answer, my friends, is yes. Very soon.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and for your feedback! I love y'all so much!


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